While he was on stage defying the rules of gravity and creating sculptures suspended in motion, I, motionless in my seat, felt a tear trickle down. Many more followed, spilling down my face as if they had been waiting in an imaginary queue. All of them, as they slowly traversed my face, turned into smiles right after passing my nose. I've been collecting them since that summer we met more than a decade ago. One for each of his achievements and, judging by the weeping, there were many. When Maria, his sister, turned back at the end of the first act, unveiling her red eyes, I realized that in order to avoid drowning in her feelings, she also had become a waterfall.

When I was little I really wanted to be a ballerina. I wanted to be like the wind when it moves the leaves, or the doll that pirouetted inside my sister's jewellery box. "Open it again!", I would always ask. Standing motionless, daydreaming, watching the doll whirl around and wishing that one day I could also spin without ever losing my balance.

This desire took me to the capital during summer vacation to attend a dance course where I met Marcelino when he was only about 9 or 10 years old, I believe. Although it was not a ballet course, there he was, a little light-filled firefly wanting to learn everything and anything. His sister told me that although boys don't dance in points, Marcelino insisted on doing so, staying at the conservatoire long after classes ended trying to find balance on his tiptoes. Or was it on the ridge of his dreams?

To keep balance, in or outside the stage, one must be in motion. There's this expression in Portuguese that says: "one dances, to let go of one's fears". Sometimes I think that saying was invented by Marcelino. He had a childhood as frail as a house of cards or a sand castle. School was his refuge, as soon as he'd hear the velvety musical notes released from the piano, he'd break free from his worries and be reborn. Maria tells me that she doesn't know where the strength of this cyclone came from, which at 13 years of age her family welcomed and named “son” and “brother”. They raised him with love, gave him the foundations his castles in the air lacked, and the notion that family was a friendly shoulder that he could always rely on.

This little bird named Marcelino made Maria his tree, the trunk of his roots and star of his galaxy. Together they left Portugal in search of a common dream: being professional ballet dancers. Today, as she sits in the audience, Maria is the only one able to feel the real meaning of the butterflies in his stomach, his dry mouth or fragile knees.

They know each other so well that are able to distinguish each other's clap even when standing behind the curtain, waiting for it to open and welcome the deserved rapturous applause that awaits them after each show. If, by any chance, from the stage, they detect the seat where the other is, in the intimacy of their eyes they will be able to thank one another for their presence and unconditional love.

Despite his undeniable achievements, Marcelino is immensely humble. The mathematics of success gave him the right dose of confidence and modesty that true stars are made of. He steps on any stage with the certainty that that's where he belongs. However the ovations he receives at the end always leave him feeling a bit awkward, such is the depth of his gratitude. As one of his best friends, Solomon Golding, told me, every time Marcelino steps on stage he is a protest! He succeeds in an institution that was not meant to accommodate people like him. In addition to the gift which he was given, he has the ability to see roads where others see chasms. Ballet is a visual art form that celebrates homogeneity. Dancers ought to have the same height, the same hair, the same physical structure, move in unison and, of course, have the same skin colour. In the United Kingdom, there isn't one single prima ballerina of colour, and the men who achieve that status can be counted by the fingers in one hand. Marcelino chooses to deal with these political questions on stage, the arena where he is a gladiator, surpassing himself over and over and over again until it becomes impossible to ignore him.

Romeo has always been his dream role. Perhaps because he has in common with the character the belief that love speaks louder than everything. I was honoured to witness the day on which he accomplished that dream. I held Martin's hand as the curtain closed and the lights came on. I took a deep breath to stop the tears. Yes, because it's ok to cry in the dark but not really in front of everybody. When I then felt able to look around I noticed that, to my surprise, much of the audience was in the same state. No one, not even those who don't know him personally, had not been touched by his talent.